The soldiers were at once summoned, and the place resounded with the roll of the drums and with trumpets sounding the alarm. Hilary hastened to her mother’s room, no longer able to keep from the invalid the danger in which they stood.
“Child,” said Mrs. Unett, in terror, “what does it all mean?”
“Only that Sir William Waller is marching on Hereford, ma’am,” said Hilary, “but as the citizens were too panic-stricken yesterday to cast up earth-works near the bridge, as they were ordered to do, we run little risk of bombardment in this house, I fancy.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Unett, with a look of relief. “If it is Sir William Waller’s army we shall be safe enough, for Gabriel Harford will, I well know, protect us.”
Hilary flushed with anger at these words, and making an excuse to carry the night lamp into the dressing-room, gave a little impatient stamp of the foot the moment she was alone.
“Gabriel, indeed! Rather than be protected by him I would throw myself on the mercy of any other man in England! Dr. Rogers says I did well and loyally in vowing never to see ‘my old friend,’ as he calls him, again, and if he dares to seek me out, I will make him suffer as he has not suffered yet.”
Her eyes flashed as she conjured up a scene pleasing enough to the perverse spirit of pride which at the moment dominated her; but soon all the hardness died out of her face, and she was again her sweet womanly self, for her mother called out to her in alarm as the first sound of firing made itself heard.
“There is naught to fear, ma’am,” she said, running into the sick-room and caressing the invalid like a child. “Oh! they must be a great way off, and will not trouble us at all. To my mind”—and she laughed gaily—“’tis not near so terrifying as a thunderstorm.”
Nevertheless, though her words were brave the sharp rattle of musketry made her pulses beat uncomfortably. It was not for herself that she feared, but from some dim recess of her heart there awoke a flicker of the love she thought wholly extinguished, and a dumb cry began to ring in her ears, “Gabriel is there in the thick of the fray. That shot, or that, or that, may cause his death-wound.”
After a time there came a lull in the firing; then it was renewed, but at a greater distance. While they were both longing to know what had happened Durdle announced Dr. Harford, and the physician, who rarely let a day pass without seeing his patient, entered with his usual quiet, kindly manner and cheering smile.